


The Tenth Pig

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, None - Freeform, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:35:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist





	The Tenth Pig

## The Tenth Pig

#### by GinaLin

http://w.psinergy.com/dryerspace/foundtreasures/gina/gina.html  
I don't own the characters. But, when I'm done playing with them, I send them home in clean jammies.  
My first Sentinel story of any length.   
  
This story is a sequel to: N/A

* * *

Author: Gina Lin  
Series: The Sentinel  
Title: The Tenth Pig  
Genre: Humor  
Pairing: J/B  
Warnings: None, slash or gen, take your pick here, language Summary: How Blair copes.  
Jim POV 

To distract myself from the raised voices in the room, I glance at Sandburg who, in spite of all the yelling and name-calling is acting like he's at a freaking church picnic or something. There's this aura of alert calmness surrounding him, with just a hint of amusement and I find myself torn between wanting to strangle him and abject envy. 

I know that innocent act, or is it? I mean, even he's not that good. Goddamit, all this yelling is giving me a headache. I reach up and rub the back of my neck. Sandburg is now looking at my jaw, which I'm sure is flexing like Schwartzeneggar's biceps and he raises an eyebrow at me and gives me a look that means "You're making some TMJ specialist very happy right now." So I make a conscious effort to quit grinding my teeth. Which eases my headache infinitesimally. I'm rewarded with a tiny smile. 

Simon and the DEA agent are still going after it like two strange bulldogs in a sack. I gave up trying to get a word in edgewise about 537 of Sandburg's heartbeats ago. 

"A goddam arm, Banks. That's all that's left of one fine agent, and by hell, we're going to get to the bottom of this if I have to get your men to roust every low life bottom feeding drug dealer in this city!" 

Simon quits gnawing on his now cold cigar and points a large finger in the fed's face. "You got a problem with the way I run things around here, you bring it to me. You do NOT grab my men off a stake out and roust them without going through me first!" 

"Excuse me?" 

Three sets of eyes turn to my Guide who is thoughtfully chewing on the end of a pen. 

"We're having a discussion here, Sandburg." Simon finally grinds out. 

"It's only a 'discussion' in the same sense that the Korean War was a 'police action'." Blair quips, making little quotes in the air with his fingers. Simon rolls his eyes and I smother the urge to grin as does Conners, who is less successful than I am. I've had more practice. 

"Anyway, I was wondering if anyone else thought it was unusual that the um, arm in question," Sandburg pauses, wrinkling his nose, "that um, animals that found it, um, hadn't well, chewed on it?" 

"What are you trying to say, Sandy?" Meagan asks, looking thoughtful. "Are you trying to say that there's a reason the arm was more or less intact?" 

"Well, what if it had something on it, or in it, that the local wildlife found unpalatable?" 

"Unpalatable?" The Fed is now looking at Blair Sandburg as if he's suddenly grown another head. Although he doesn't need one, the one he has works just fine, thank you. 

"Well, yeah, I mean, why an arm? Every inch of that area has been searched and nothing else has turned up of Agent Franks." Sandburg starts to get animated, he pushes up his glasses and his hands start carving shapes in the air as he goes into "lecture mode". "I'm wondering if a tox screen would turn up anything unusual, I mean, if animals aren't touching it, maybe there's something they can sense that's wrong about it. I mean, Franks disappeared, according to Agent Myers here, about a week ago, and yet, the arm was more or less intact. Believe me, there are insects alone out there in the temporal rainforests of Washington that can strip the flesh from a bone in a week. Not to mention various other small predators and big ones, too." He gives me a "We need to get a look at that arm, Jim" glance and I nod imperceptibly. 

"That's true," Simon shifts his cigar. "I hadn't thought of that, the ME is looking at the arm now, I'll make sure he runs a thorough screen for any toxins or chemicals. Good thinking, Sandburg." 

The Fed gives Sandburg another look, obviously taking in the hair, the 3 earrings and the layers of flannel and denim that would make Sandburg look right at home in a garage band. 

"Vice?" he asks Banks and everyone sniggers. Except the Fed, of course who just looks slightly more clueless than when he came in. 

"Well, I think that's all we can do for now, Myers. I'll make sure you're kept abreast of any new developments." Simon doesn't add, "Now piss off, asshole." but his curt, dismissive tone and the cold glare suggests it without the words. 

Myers flashes my Guide another puzzled look and then exits showing the usual courtesy we've come to expect from our kindly local federales. 

Everyone exhales, as though on cue. 

"Christ, do they train to be that obnoxious or is it just required talent?" asks Conners of no one in particular. She gets up and visibly shakes off the tension in the room. "Well, I need to go find the nearest source of chocolate, see you gents later." 

I get up and Blair bounces up out of his chair. Everyone looks whipped except for Mr. Energizer Bunny Blair, who actually seems to have been energized by the last half-hour of palpable, head-ache inducing, chocolate devouring tension. He's probably taking notes in his oversized noggin about how this compares to the territorial behavior of minks or something. 

"Come on Chief, we're outta here." I wearily grab my jacket and he's bouncing along behind me as usual, still going on about something or another. I really don't mind my headache actually eases up as he tells me about what he's planning for dinner, something hopefully not too scary and reasonably edible. It's his night to cook, which is always either a gourmet treat or a gustatory adventure right up there with the dead drop ride at an amusement park. 

We get in the truck and I grin at him, because he's still describing how to perfectly roll and slice basil leaves so as not to bruise them. I divine that we're having pizza, and hey, no goat cheese, just buffalo mozzarella and I get happier. 

The next time he pauses for air, (and this is about 5 minutes, I swear, the kid should take up scuba diving) I interject, "That didn't bother you at all, did it?" 

"Bother me?" he repeats, pausing in his explanation of why Roma tomatoes make the best sauce. (Its something to do with acidity, how silly of me not to know). 

"The yelling, the tension, all of it." I make a vague encompassing gesture as we wait for a light change. 

"No man, nothing bothers the tenth pig." 

My brain sort of freezes at that, because I've heard Sandburg say some weird shit in the three years I've known and loved him, (okay, I'm not afraid to admit it, at least to me, myself and I), but this takes the proverbial cake. It's a whole fucking bakery full of cakes. 

"What?" If I had a nickel for every time I've make this query to Sandburg in this same "What the fuck?" tone, I could probably retire to some nice place with a beach, surf and fish all damn day. 

"I'm the tenth pig." 

"Okay, I'll bite." I might as well surrender right now and get it over with, wondering if this is going to interfere with the arrival of the pizza to my eagerly anticipating stomach. It growls in sympathy. "Tenth pig?" I give him the opening, as if he needs one. 

"There was this study done years ago with pigs, who by the way have a social structure amazingly like humans in some ways. Pigs, very intelligent, sociable animals, by the way. At least as smart as dogs. Shame we make bacon out of them." 

"I like bacon," I mutter, not really caring if my breakfast once had an appealing personality or not. 

"Anyway," he goes on, hands now orchestrating his thoughts. "They put ten pigs in an isolated group and studied their interactions. Who do you think was the most relaxed, happy pig?" 

"The one who didn't get made into bacon?" Okay, lame joke. I'm tired, I'm hungry and I still have half a headache. 

"The tenth pig!" Blair says with a flourish of hands, as if that answers everything. 

"Why?" Did I just say that? We've pulled up in our usual parking spot and my brain is going, loft, aspirin, pizza, TV, in that order, if possible, but no, now I'm going to get "Pig Society 101" by Sandburg first. 

"See, if you're the tenth pig, you know you're never going to be the first pig, or the second. Hell, you're never going to be 7th or 8th. So, you kick back, have fun, eat slop, roll in the mud, and maybe just for fun, you watch all the other pigs try to become first or second pig. Very entertaining." 

"So, who's the unhappiest pig?" I can't help it, dammit, I have to know. 

"The ninth pig, man. He knows he's got to get rid of seven pigs ahead of him to be number one and it's killing him. It's all he can think of day and night. How to knock off those seven other pigs." 

I begin to laugh. "Okay, Old MacDonald, which pig am I?" 

"You're the number one pig in my book, Jim." 

I chase him up the stairs and he's laughing all the way. Wait til I catch that little shit, he's gonna pay for that one. 

-The End- 

* * *

End The Tenth Pig by GinaLin: mindmelda@yahoo.com  
Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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